


with every second that you could give

by loveclouds



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 02:36:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11004204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveclouds/pseuds/loveclouds
Summary: The journey of Iwaizumi and Oikawa going for gold.





	with every second that you could give

\---

 

The evening before they have to turn in their “plans for the future” sheet to their respective homeroom teachers, Iwaizumi and Oikawa convene in Oikawa’s living room to have a meeting. It’s very serious. 

 

Oikawa’s mom, finding it very cute and many years past even vaguely wondering about her son’s attachment to Hajime-chan, sets out two bowls of snacks, one filled with grapes and the other with chocolate. She doesn’t say anything but does roll her eyes when two hands immediately reach into the chocolate bowl, deciding to leave them to their very serious high schooler discussion.

 

“Flip on three,” Oikawa says, staring Iwaizumi dead in the eye. Their crumpled papers lie facedown on the living room table, imagined and hopeful futures scribbled on the other side. 

 

“One, two--” That’s all Iwaizumi says before they flip their papers over at the same time. Best friends have history. 

 

“Playing for Osaka University?” Oikawa eventually reads, but his voice is pitched too high. Well, there’s promise there, but it’s all the way in Osaka!

 

“You’re going with Chuo after all?” Iwaizumi asks, eyes on Oikawa’s neat print. 

 

Tokyo has always been Oikawa’s city of choice. Iwaizumi doesn’t mind either way, but after checking out multiple universities and their teams, Osaka seemed like a good place to go. He wants to experience something new and after graduation, the Suntory Sunbirds really do seem like a good league team to join, and they’re based in Osaka. 

 

Tokyo to Osaka is only about three hours by bullet train; it’s manageable. 

 

It’s manageable, but...

 

Oikawa is silent, chewing on the inside of his lip. Then he looks at Iwaizumi with a strange expression on his face, caught between a smile and blatant anxiety. 

 

I’m not comfortable with you being that far away, Oikawa wants to confess. 

 

I’ve never not been able to see you when I want, Oikawa thinks.

 

“But you’re gonna come back to me with a hideous Osaka dialect, and it’ll hurt my ears on top of my brain when you talk,” Oikawa says instead, eyes wide and innocent. 

 

Iwaizumi punches him in the arm--hard--and mutters under his breath as he picks up a nearby pen. Oikawa watches with no small satisfaction as Iwaizumi crosses Osaka out and puts Chuo down. There’s no hesitation in Iwaizumi’s writing.

 

“It’ll be closer to home, anyway,” Oikawa provides, like he needs to be consoling. He tries not to worry about the tug of guilt in his stomach, a distant shame for always being selfish.

 

“It will,” Iwaizumi agrees. He sets the pen down and looks Oikawa in the eye. This is his best friend, the best partner he could’ve asked for in life. When was the last time he actually denied Oikawa anything?

 

“What, Iwa-chan? You’re staring.” Oikawa finally has to look away, stomach doing cartwheels.

 

Iwaizumi huffs out an exasperated laugh and roughly ruffles Oikawa’s soft, pretty hair, letting Oikawa whine at him and pull half-heartedly at his wrist. “Looks like we’re gonna be together for a while longer, Oikawa.”

 

Oikawa ducks his head lower and nods, wondering how he can stretch a while longer into the rest of his life. 

 

\---

 

It’s a point of constant contention for Oikawa when people try to say that he’s a genius. He’s not--he has to work harder than everyone else to be better than everyone else. He didn’t get into Chuo on a sports scholarship for volleyball, or get recruited by success-hungry scouts. He applied for an undergrad program like everybody else and tried out for the team like everybody else, and that should say enough by itself. 

 

Iwaizumi thinks Oikawa sells himself short, though. He may not be like the Kageyamas in the world but there’s a fire to him that can’t be manufactured or simply willed for. Oikawa may think that success is an end goal, but that isn’t quite right, either. 

 

He doesn’t see himself grow, not the way that Iwaizumi can. And Iwaizumi watches him, is always watching him, has been since they were both short and fat and uncoordinated babies, so he actually does know Oikawa better than Oikawa knows himself. 

 

And that suits him just fine. 

 

\---

 

In their third year of university, Iwaizumi and Oikawa move into a bigger and better apartment out into West Tokyo. It’s a bit of a pain to commute but they like the space, and although their first apartment together had been nice, Hanamaki had complained so much about there not being enough space to have guests, and what were they, bad sons that would never invite their families over for a proper visit?

 

“Have you ever considered that we don’t _have_ to be friends with Makki?” Oikawa asks him in a conspiratorial hush one night, as if the most brilliant thought has struck him.

 

They’re hosting both Hanamaki and Matsukawa for a three-day playdate. Summer vacation is a great time but with only two bedrooms available, it only seemed to make sense that Hanamaki and Matsukawa duke it out for the bed and single spare futon in Iwaizumi’s room while Iwaizumi goes to share Oikawa’s luxurious queen. 

 

“It’s crossed my mind before,” Iwaizumi says, laughing. He’s kicking their light blanket a bit lower since it’s so hot and muggy and it’s getting on Oikawa’s nerves, but he’s also too hot to do anything about it.

 

While a queen-sized bed isn’t small, it’s also not actually a lot of space for two full-grown, muscular, very athletic volleyball players. Oikawa pretends he doesn’t feel the way his entire right side is burning from where he’s pressed up along Iwaizumi’s body. It has nothing to do with the heat.

 

“When was the last time we did a sleepover like this?” Iwaizumi asks, apparently thinking along the same lines. Oikawa flushes red in the dark.

 

“You mean you invading my personal space?” Oikawa sings, turning onto his side, away so that Iwaizumi can’t see his face. “Like...yesterday.”

 

“Me, in _your_ space? That’s rich, coming from you.”

 

“Maybe I’d do it less if you stopped looking like you enjoyed it so much?”

 

“Shut up, Shittykawa.”

 

“I need my beauty sleep, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, deflecting.

 

Minutes tick by. Oikawa slowly relaxes again and he’s almost asleep when Iwaizumi sighs and shifts toward him, and then there’s heat all down his back. They’re not quite touching but Iwaizumi is close enough that they might as well be, and Oikawa is suddenly wide, wide awake. 

 

“Are you awake?” Iwaizumi asks him, such a quiet whisper that Oikawa barely makes it out. 

 

He wisely chooses to say nothing. They really haven’t shared a bed since maybe sleepovers in junior high, and even then, not often. Oikawa always had a spare futon and Iwaizumi had the same in his house. While Oikawa likes to drape himself all over Iwaizumi at various times throughout the day, and Iwaizumi chooses to walk quite close when they’re coming and going from lectures, it’s been years since they’ve actually been so physically intimate. 

 

Oikawa has to trap a gasp in the back of his throat when Iwaizumi’s fingertips gently brush the back of his neck. It takes everything in his willpower not to shiver, desperate and elated and not a single moment of confusion inside him. 

 

He knows they’re too close. Iwaizumi knows it too, and they both decided to move in together anyway. 

 

These secretive, fleeting touches are all that Oikawa has to go on, but they also sustain him for months at a time. He remembers falling asleep on the living room floor on a cold February afternoon, exhausted and surrounded by boxes from freshly moving in, and he’d woken up first with one of Iwaizumi’s arms slung snug across his waist. He remembers the first nightclub they ever went to in Shibuya with half of the Chuo volleyball team in eager attendance, and the way Iwaizumi had had just a little too much to drink, unthinkingly, constantly asking for Oikawa’s attention by pulling him in around the waist, his hand firm and heavy on Oikawa’s hip.

 

He remembers seriously fighting with Iwaizumi in their second year, right before Christmas, and he’d gone off on an angry run around the nearby park in nothing but a light shirt and his gym shorts. He was too upset to be cold, feeling weirdly betrayed that Iwaizumi wanted to travel with some of his new university friends first rather than spend all of vacation in Miyagi with him to see family. He’s free to do whatever he wants, of course. Oikawa goes out with friends all the time for mixers and parties and study groups. Somehow, having no right to be mad just made it worse. 

 

They hadn’t talked that night when Oikawa got home, and by the next morning, he was running a 39.7 degree fever. While memories of recovery are in chunks and hazy snippets, he does know that he was burning with fever for nearly two full days, and he knows that no one but Iwaizumi would’ve spoonfed him porridge made with chicken broth.

 

He remembers the paper cool of Iwaizumi’s skin as he held Oikawa’s hand for what must’ve been hours, and how hard he would squeeze whenever Oikawa tried to groggily apologize for fighting with him. He remembers the quiet timber of Iwaizumi’s voice when on the phone with his mom, speaking with barely repressed concern, _how long should I leave it on the stove?_ and _would it help to add some ginger?_ and _I’m thinking of taking him to the hospital, he’s never had a fever this long before._

 

His fever broke on the third day. Iwaizumi still went to Kyoto for a few days with his friends at the beginning of winter holidays while Oikawa headed back to Miyagi first by himself. It was all fine, especially after getting home at two in the morning after the first shrine visit for the new year, and his mom had sleepily teased how he would never find a better wife than Iwaizumi.

 

They still constantly get into tiffs and spats and very important arguments about how well pineapple really suited pizza, but they don’t fight like that anymore. 

 

And now, Iwaizumi’s fingertips are skimming along his nape. He runs his fingers through the gentle curls of Oikawa’s chestnut hair, like he’s handling fine lace, and he sighs Oikawa’s name at the end of it, like he has so many things he wants to say. 

 

Iwaizumi falls asleep not long after. Oikawa listens to him breathe, staring into the dark, then dares to press himself back just a few centimeters closer. Once Iwaizumi shifts in his sleep and presses his forehead to the curve of Oikawa’s spine, Oikawa finally closes his eyes.

 

\---

 

There’s no mandatory practice during summer vacation but half of the team shows up anyway. Chuo has pride in their volleyball team. 

 

Matsukawa and Hanamaki get to join in for some practice and Oikawa pretends not to see the way their reflexes have atrophied in just three years’ time from disuse. 

 

He doesn’t blame them for it. Not everyone lives and breathes volleyball; he’s watched most of his peers slowly peel away from the track he’s determined to be on, leaving the competitive pack smaller and smaller every year. He wonders about Iwaizumi sometimes. He’s naturally gifted with athleticism and in the best way Oikawa could mean this, the simplicity to tunnel vision in on one thing to chase. He loves volleyball, Oikawa doubts none of that, but he wonders how much Iwaizumi actually really wants to dedicate so much of his life to it. 

 

“I should probably stop smoking,” Matsukawa says, out of breath, leaning heavily against the gym wall. Oikawa looks at him with a sideways smile, shaking his head. 

 

“Mattsun, you know it’s bad for you. Why did you even start?”

 

Matsukawa looks at him with too much knowledge of the stuff that Oikawa wants to hide. “Why do we ever start things we know are bad for us?” Then he turns back to the court, looking at Iwaizumi, and it’s just typical that he’s patiently explaining stable footing to a doe-eyed first-year. 

 

“Then she must’ve been something else,” Oikawa guesses.

 

“She was,” Matsukawa confirms. “Looks like Iwaizumi’s still something else to you, too.”

 

He’s always going to be something else, Oikawa thinks, helpless.

 

Iwaizumi looks over at the two of them on the sidelines. Oikawa wonders if Iwaizumi can see the longing on his face.

 

“You could just take the plunge,” Matsukawa says generally, pointed enough to make Oikawa wince.

 

“It’ll fade with time,” Oikawa replies. He doesn’t believe it. He doubts his friends do either. It’s not like Iwaizumi hasn’t made himself available enough for Oikawa to guess at what’s open to him. Hanamaki has even asked him straight out why he doesn’t just go for it. 

 

But Oikawa has a lot of reservations about taking things further than this. They’re too close, too comfortable, too convenient. There’s a lifetime of history he doesn’t want to mess up or lose, and deep down, he worries that Iwaizumi would fall into a relationship with him the same way that he’s continuing on with volleyball. It’s what they’ve always done, so how much of that familiarity is really love?

 

“What if it doesn’t fade with time, wise old captain of mine?”

 

Oikawa shoots Matsukawa a frown. He doesn’t actually know. He’s never felt any differently for Iwaizumi so he has nothing to compare to.

 

Iwaizumi calls his name and Oikawa slips a smile on his face, waving at him. “Then we’re both really fucked, Mattsun.”

 

“Oikawa,” Matsukawa says. He slaps Oikawa on the back and shoves him back onto the court. The familiarity and nostalgia of it makes Oikawa stop, turning to look back over his shoulder with sad affection. Matsukawa smiles at him. “Feelings you don’t express are feelings that don’t exist. Don’t learn that the hard way.”

 

\---

 

On the night before Valentine’s Day in their second year of living together, Oikawa had gone over to a friend’s house in order to borrow her kitchen. She found it disgustingly cute that he wanted to hand make chocolates for someone even though it’s girls who are expected to give chocolates on Valentine’s Day, and when she saw his backpack full of stupidly cute twist ties and pastel paper cups, she left him to go buy higher quality chocolates for her boyfriend. 

 

Oikawa’s pretty good in the kitchen. He’s good with his hands. He mixed and stirred chocolate and butter and cream with utter contentment, patient and pleased as he worked his way through the process of creating perfect chocolate truffles.

 

It wouldn’t do for Iwaizumi to have seen him do all this because Iwaizumi was the one who was getting a pleasant surprise. 

 

And he _was_ pleased. He was also surprised, standing in their shared kitchen at running-a-bit-late o’clock in the morning, a rich navy box in his hands, bound together with an aquamarine bow.

 

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Oikawa had said. 

 

“Thanks, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi had said back, genuine and a little awed, too surprised to hide it. 

 

“It’s to make up for all the chocolates you won’t be getting from cute girls today, Iwa-chan!”

 

Oikawa had grinned then, covering his head with both hands in anticipation of getting smacked, but nothing came. He thought Iwaizumi would growl something at him for being shitty or quickly put the chocolates away but instead, Iwaizumi opened the box and stared to the point of making Oikawa feel uncomfortable before he popped one in his mouth. 

 

“So...I’m gonna go...” Oikawa stammered after a while, embarrassed that Iwaizumi wasn’t playing all of this off casually. It’s true he didn’t mean any of this casually but Iwaizumi wasn’t really supposed to make a point of pointing it out. 

 

Iwaizumi stepped directly in front of him though, trapping him against the kitchen table, and he had a very strange expression on his face. Oikawa’s seen it before in his life, though not often, and usually only when Iwaizumi thought no one was looking. 

 

“They’re really great,” Iwaizumi told him quietly, really too close, and Oikawa’s entire spine contracted at the way Iwaizumi was staring into his eyes, at his mouth, the clean warmth of his proximity nearly enough to melt Oikawa into the table. All he could do was weakly shake his head before Iwaizumi said, “Oikawa, I--” and looked so pained for a moment, like the words were glass shards moving through him, that Oikawa started holding his breath. 

 

In the end, Iwaizumi just closed his eyes and stepped away, closing the box to protectively hold it against his chest. 

 

“Thank you for making me chocolate,” Iwaizumi had repeated, back stiff as he walked away.

 

“Y- Yeah,” Oikawa remembers managing, ever articulate, all his air escaping him in a relieved rush. He had felt so empty though, some part of him sorely disappointed. “Have a good day, Iwa-chan.”

 

And that was that. Iwaizumi had come home that night with no other chocolates to his name while Oikawa was lugging around an entire bag and boy had he made fun of Iwaizumi for it, knowing and smug. Iwaizumi didn’t seem like he minded it that much though, and when they dozed off on the couch together that night to a sappy high school romcom on TV, Oikawa’s head was in Iwaizumi’s lap and Iwaizumi’s hand was gently working through his hair.

 

Iwaizumi had bought him an entire box of milk bread in return for White Day. In terms of starting yearly traditions, this one was pretty great. Oikawa looks back on it with great joy.

 

\---

 

Matsukawa and Hanamaki leave them with a bunch of kitschy souvenirs from Miyagi and grinning for days afterward. Life resumes as usual but Oikawa doesn’t tell Iwaizumi about Matsukawa passively warning him about missed chances, and Iwaizumi doesn’t tell Oikawa about Hanamaki actively admonishing him for letting Oikawa be the only thing in his life he refuses to move forward with.

 

Before winter holidays, their coach asks both of them to stay after practice one day. He’s uncharacteristically nervous which makes Oikawa a bit nervous, but he does his best to hide it, even though Iwaizumi keeps shooting him sideways glances. 

 

In Coach’s office, Oikawa and Iwaizumi are both stunned into silence to be standing face to face with a scout they’ve seen at all of the official Team Japan games.

 

“Would you boys like to come practice a bit with the national team over the winter holidays?” he asks, and Iwaizumi practically shouts in the affirmative for both of them when all Oikawa can do is continue to stare in bewildered wonder.

 

It’s overwhelming, feeling like your dreams are slowly coming within reach.

 

\---

Their last year of university is punishing. Practice amps up for both of them if only out of self-discipline, the very real, very imminent promised positions on the national team far too coveted to afford slacking off. 

 

Iwaizumi feels like it was fitting how they were spotted as a pair. Maybe a literal lifetime of being and playing together just does that to people, but apparently, their near seamless rhythm with each other stands out more than most. Iwaizumi doesn’t talk about his title as ace back in Seijou, and even less so now in Chuo, but Oikawa is steadfast and stubborn about keeping him the best. It must show. Oikawa is the best setter that Iwaizumi has ever played with though, so maybe it says more about Oikawa’s genius than Iwaizumi’s own ability.

 

Either way, when the V.Premier leagues start coming to court them, Iwaizumi doesn’t mind very much that their old nickname of _A-Un no Kokyu_ comes back to them. To Oikawa’s eternal unamusement, Iwaizumi decides to join the Suntory Sunbirds just like he had planned to back in high school, even though Oikawa seems determined to join the Panasonic Panthers. At least they can move to Osaka together; Iwaizumi doesn’t even consider getting their own places. 

 

There were a few weeks last year when Oikawa had seemed stressed, but after Iwaizumi brought up moving to Osaka together, he’d quickly relaxed again. They’re codependent, even he can see that, but it makes him happy. 

 

He’s happy when Oikawa welcomes him home with a ridiculous apron on and an obnoxious barrette clip in his hair, spatula waving in the air. He’s happy when Oikawa squeezes next to him on the sofa on movie nights and ends up half on top of him before midway. He’s happy when he can see that Oikawa is upset or concerned about something and he’s the one that Oikawa turns to, serious and trusting, because he values Iwaizumi’s opinions and thoughts more than anyone else’s. 

 

He’s happy whenever they go out and whether on public transit or in a restaurant or shopping in a mall, Oikawa will always point out if someone was checking him out. He says it like a compliment and an insult all at once, telling Iwaizumi he’s so dense, god, how could he not notice the way that girl was staring?? But it’s also levied at him like an accusation, and Iwaizumi likes that that’s what Oikawa’s jealousy looks like. He’s happy when Oikawa walks closer as a result of it, and he leans back when Oikawa sometimes leans into him just to feel his weight.

 

“I didn’t realize Osaka was just as expensive to live in as Tokyo,” Oikawa says, frowning hard as he scrolls through apartment listings. He’s still warm from his hot shower but the good feeling is quickly draining away in the face of stress. Squinting doesn’t make the answers come any easier and he squirms in impatience at the kitchen table, tempted to throw his laptop out the window. He has those fake glasses perched near the tip of his nose, nearly falling off, and Iwaizumi finds him devastatingly cute.

 

“It’d probably be cheaper if we don’t live in the city center.” Iwaizumi brings over Oikawa’s bath towel and starts drying off his still dripping hair, forever put upon by Oikawa’s inability to follow through on basic life skills. “Oy, how are you not cold having wet hair in the winter? You’re gonna catch death one of these days.”

 

“Iwa-chan, are you my wife?” Oikawa asks agreeably, tilting his head back until he’s staring upside down at Iwaizumi staring back down at him. There’s only his bath towel and the fabric of Iwaizumi’s hoodie separating the top of Oikawa’s head from where it’s resting against Iwaizumi’s abs and Oikawa hates himself for thinking about how firm they are. He’s seen Iwaizumi change a thousand times before and zero times have ever been easy for him to not think about. 

 

Iwaizumi seems completely unfazed by his question, though it likely would’ve prompted a serious bout of yelling and insults if this was still high school. “You are definitely never gonna be able to get married to a nice girl,” Iwaizumi tells him flatly, his hands curving around the sides of Oikawa’s face. 

 

 _Of course not,_ Oikawa thinks. _You’re here, aren’t you?_

 

He can feel the tips of Iwaizumi’s fingers resting against his jawline and throat. Oikawa swallows, and wonders if Iwaizumi can feel it. If Iwaizumi were to bend down, curl over him, Oikawa would just close his eyes and call it a long time coming.

 

The silence stretches too far to be comfortable, and with the distinct impression that Oikawa is reading more off his face than he wants, Iwaizumi looks away, pushing Oikawa to sit straight again. He continues to silently towel off his hair, aware that he probably _is_ like a doting wife, ceaseless nagging included. How did he get to this point?

 

Honestly, was he ever not at this point?

 

“Don’t forget to include balconies in your search,” Iwaizumi says, finishing up quickly. Now all of Oikawa’s hair is sticking out in frizzy tufts and it makes him smile. 

 

“Iwa-chan, who do you think I am? By the way, I want proper air conditioning already installed this time around. No more melting in the summer heat. Hm...I wonder if trash separation rules are strict in Osaka.”

 

“...Do you ever think about how old we are? We’re talking about balconies and garbage disposal.”

 

“We can talk about my eternal devastating beauty if you wa-- _Iwa-chan!_ It’s rude to walk away when someone’s in the middle of talking to you!!”

 

\---

 

“How come you don’t make any homemade chocolates for any of the girls who give you chocolate on Valentine’s?” Iwaizumi asks, presenting yet another box of milk bread to Oikawa’s happy and bouncing smile. Their Valentine’s and White Day tradition is going strong.

 

“Silly Iwa-chan, do you know how many chocolates I’d have to make? Unlike you, I actually get tons of chocolate, you know! It’s just easier to buy the store-bought kind.”

 

“That’s not what I mean, Shittykawa.” Iwaizumi sighs, stepping back to watch Oikawa tear the box open like a little kid with Christmas gifts at the kitchen table. “Hasn’t Toda-san been making you chocolates for four years straight now? That’s pretty dedicated...I’m just saying.”

 

Actually, what _is_ he saying? Every time he wants to ask Oikawa about this kind of stuff, it unintentionally sounds like he’s encouraging Oikawa to date, and that’s not really what Iwaizumi means. 

 

“...I don’t just make chocolate for _anybody,_ ” Oikawa says breezily, but Iwaizumi hears the note of tension in his voice loud and clear. 

 

Maybe that really was what Iwaizumi was after. Some sort of confirmation that he’s special, that Oikawa really does go out of his way to do something as troublesome like make chocolate truffles for him. He says nothing in reply, just lets Oikawa silently inspect the different variations of milk bread he’s received in this year’s box. 

 

“Well, thanks,” he says awkwardly, a blush crawling across his face. Oikawa’s wide-eyed look of surprise and subsequent smug smile do nothing to make him feel better. “I like your chocolate truffles. I hope...they aren’t...too much of a pain in the ass. Uh...”

 

Oikawa patiently waits it out, eager to hear whatever else Iwaizumi has to say. If it’s making him stumble this much, it’s got to be coming from somewhere uncomfortable.

 

“I hope you’ll keep making them for me,” Iwaizumi suddenly bites out all in a rush, then spins around on his heel to beeline for the front door.

 

“Wait!! Where are you going!?” Oikawa half-laughs and half-yells after him, heart pounding so loud in ears that he jolts out of his seat, jittery with excitement. Iwaizumi mumbles something unintelligible and the tips of his ears are bright red and Oikawa’s chest caves in, an avalanche of affection choking him all at once. “Pick up carrots and a toothbrush on your way home!” he calls, stares at their closed front door where Iwaizumi was just standing, then falls into his chair to hide his burning face in his hands.

 

\---

 

With graduation just around the corner and the slowly warming weather, Oikawa is optimistic. They have their offers from their respective league teams and their new two-bedroom apartment is all set up for moving in whenever they want to get there, and Iwaizumi has been especially nice to him since the great and adorable fleeing event of White Day. 

 

Leaving Chuo is hard; they love their team. But nothing will ever quite be like leaving Seijou. They had come so close to their dreams then, and they were smaller dreams, sure, but they were enormous for the shoulders of teenagers, and Oikawa marvels at how much things can change with perspective.

 

But sometimes, there’s a feeling that time and reason can’t help.

 

That’s the hard kernel of enlightenment Oikawa gets to grind his teeth on while his stomach twists up into a knot, face carefully blank as he looks down the long table. 

 

He wasn’t going to come to this mixer. It’s a cross-departmental dinner to celebrate their graduation, but Oikawa had just wanted to sleep and maybe marathon movies with Iwaizumi all weekend. His friends had begged and begged though, because girls love Oikawa-san, girls love hearing about Oikawa-san’s practice matches with national players in Team Japan, girls love giggling when Oikawa-san tells them they’re beautiful. If his friends need a wingman, he’s happy to do it. He’s not infamous for being a flirt for nothing.

 

But all of that falls away as his eyes meet Iwaizumi’s, and all rational thought leeches away through his feet rooted to the ground. “Iwa-chan, what are you doing here?” he asks, wide smile painted on his lips. 

 

“Oh my god, Oikawa-san! You know Iwaizumi-kun!?” one of the girls exclaims.

 

Their departments are different and they run in nearly completely different circles. Outside of volleyball, they don’t have many common friends. It’s strange now, seeing everyone gathered together, how much of their lives are actually very different.

 

“I heard you were going to be here,” Iwaizumi says to him, and there’s a hardness to his answer that makes Oikawa’s spine stiffen. _Why shouldn’t I be here,_ Iwaizumi’s eyes seem to say.

 

“You just never come to these, that’s all.” Oikawa is proud that his voice doesn’t waver. It certainly masks the slow bubble of panic in his stomach, mind racing with possibilities. It _is_ strange that Iwaizumi has never dated in Oikawa’s entire lifetime of knowing him, but he also pretty much knows why that is. There was never any reason for him to attend mixers and Oikawa was comforted by Iwaizumi’s seemingly total disinterest in doing so. 

 

But now Iwaizumi is here. He’s dressed in dark, tight jeans and a fitted collared shirt, and not even he can be blind to the whole lot of appreciative glances being thrown his way. 

 

His shoulders, his chest, they’re so broad. Oikawa clearly isn’t the only one in the room who wants to burrow himself there, have Iwaizumi’s strong arms wrap around him, have that cutting gaze be pointed only at him.

 

“How do you know Oikawa-san?” Shiori asks Iwaizumi in increasing curiosity. 

 

“Roommates,” they both say at the same time. Maybe a few years ago, they would’ve said _best friends_ to strangers. Oikawa wonders why they don’t say that anymore.

 

“No way, you guys are way too good-looking to be living together! Handsome guys really do make friends with handsome guys.”

 

“Handsome? Shiori-san, have you actually looked at my face?” Iwaizumi asks her, grinning, and when she laughs and playfully hits his shoulder, Oikawa heads straight for him. He wedges himself right in the too-little space at Iwaizumi’s other side and says nothing in the way of explanation, ignoring the wide-eyed looks he’s getting from his friends and complete strangers.

 

To his credit, Iwaizumi doesn’t even flinch. 

 

He’s not the type of guy to go to mixers, he’s only ever listened to Oikawa go on and on about the ridiculous ones he goes to now and again, but today is different. 

 

He’s heard about this graduation mixer for weeks now, sometimes from Oikawa himself, but it was only incidentally through a mutual friend that he heard about Oikawa’s participation. Naoya hadn’t meant anything by it when he said it was going to be huge and full of attractive people like Oikawa, but it had caught his attention when Naoya had also offhandedly added, _I heard Oikawa-kun’s kind of seeing someone from the English major department so I want to see what she looks like. Heard they’re gonna be there together. Hey, is she pretty?_

 

Is she? Iwaizumi doesn’t know. He hadn’t heard anything about her. He never even knew she existed. 

 

It takes nearly half an hour of introductions back and forth over dinner before he sees the girl that Naoya was talking about. She’s sitting nowhere near Oikawa but she does keep looking his way, and she is very, very beautiful. Long, light brown hair, huge brown eyes, a very delicate nose to complement her doll-like face. She is very much what Iwaizumi knows Oikawa’s type to be, even if Oikawa’s never brought any girls around before. 

 

He’s had a lifetime to witness Oikawa flirt with girls. None of this is new. 

 

Part of him wants to be cruel and make Oikawa feel bad. But what is there for Oikawa to feel bad about? For wanting a girlfriend? For not telling him he may be seeing someone? That’s ridiculous. 

 

And it’s not as if he and Oikawa are actually dating, even if they both know their relationship is far, far beyond typical. More than friends, not quite lovers...what a terrible, awful place to be in.

 

From the way Naoya and a few others keep looking nervously in Oikawa’s direction, and just knowing Oikawa to be Oikawa, Iwaizumi knows this sullen silence is far too unlike him. The party’s going on all around him but Oikawa shows no interest in participating; he remains stubborn and still on Iwaizumi’s left, tensing up whenever Shiori says anything to him from Iwaizumi’s right. 

 

“You might want to stop being so antisocial,” Iwaizumi says quietly, not looking at Oikawa at all. “Is it really putting you off so much that I’m here?”

 

“You didn’t tell me anything,” Oikawa accuses.

 

Iwaizumi’s irritation flares. “You didn’t tell me anything either.”

 

“I told you I was thinking of coming tonight! I told you like weeks ago and you said you didn’t want to come.”

 

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

 

Oikawa looks at him in confusion, leaning in closer so he can keep their conversation private. “What are you talking about then, Iwa-chan?”

 

Ah, fuck, _fuck._ Iwaizumi really despises himself for the hurt he feels, because even if he knows it’s misplaced and unfair, he can’t help that this is painful. “I guess I thought you’d tell me if you...if you were going to start seeing someone.”

 

His embarrassed mumble is met with thunderstruck silence. Once Iwaizumi finally looks over at him, there’s nothing but incredulous, muted rage on Oikawa’s face, and all the alarm bells in his head go off. 

 

Oikawa grabs him around the elbow and hauls him up, a smile shaking around his mouth as he excuses them. He’s barely got a handle on himself and the three beers he downed in anger earlier aren’t helping. 

 

“Oikawa, what’s the matter with you!” Iwaizumi exclaims sharply the second they step outside. Oikawa turns to him and opens his mouth to speak but just fumes silently, gaping, and Iwaizumi sighs, turning his face up in prayer to the dark night sky. “Come on,” he says, taking Oikawa by the wrist. He’s rigid with tension but Iwaizumi tugs him into a quiet side street without resistance, glad for the darkness. “Why are you so angry?”

 

“Are you kidding me?” Oikawa demands. “You really think I’m seeing someone?”

 

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows furrow at his harshness but he doesn’t comment on it. “Aren’t you?”

 

“You don’t think I would’ve told you?”

 

That makes him stop, ashamed. “I don’t know,” he answers quietly, shoulders sagging. “I thought you would.”

 

“And where do you get off asking me these questions when you’re sitting there flirting with _Shiori-san?_ ”

 

“What the hell are you talking about? I wasn’t flirting with her.”

 

“I saw you with my own eyes!”

 

Iwaizumi groans in frustration and runs his fingers through his hair, a habit that pops out when he’s particularly stressed. “I wasn’t flirting with her,” he reiterates, clearly enunciating every word, “I was just-- damn it, Oikawa!”

 

“What!?”

 

“I thought I could get over this, _this!_ ” he says helplessly, both hands turned skyward between them. Oikawa suddenly wants to recoil from him, afraid of the defeat on Iwaizumi’s face, afraid of what he’s about to say. “I thought, if you really did have someone you wanted to get to know better, I couldn’t--”

 

He stops again, expression twisted. He’s in agony, staring at the wide-eyed terror on Oikawa’s face. 

 

“I shouldn’t get in the way, I know that,” Iwaizumi finishes gently, so mortified. “But if I can’t make you fall in love with me, I at least wanted to make sure you don’t fall in love with anyone else.”

 

“...What did you just say?” Oikawa asks, from a voice very far away. “ _What_ did--”

 

“Oikawa, come on.” Iwaizumi’s voice is small, weak, so unlike him in every way that Oikawa knows him. “We’re graduating next week. I thought you’d say something if you wanted anything so it’s okay that you don’t, but we need to talk about this.”

 

“Talk about what?” Oikawa demands, still in shock. “What do we need to talk about?”

 

Iwaizumi could shake him. “I’m your best friend! Oikawa, I’m your best fucking friend, I know what you mean even if you don’t say anything.” He pushes the burn of rejection and years of quiet, ignored longing deep, deep down into his chest, working around it. “You not saying anything only tells me that you don’t want to acknowledge it, but I’ll always know.”

 

They immediately lapse into silence. Iwaizumi wants the ground to swallow him whole and the way Oikawa is staring at him, blank and slack-jawed, really isn’t helping. His hand finds the back of his neck, and he rubs, nervous and off-center now that he’s finally addressed this topic with Oikawa verbally. 

 

“I may not sound like it right now,” Oikawa says eventually, utterly calm, “but I’m so mad at you right now. Really, really mad, Hajime.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi says hoarsely, face crumpling, “I don’t want you to think I--”

 

He startles, cutting off when Oikawa yells in frustration and pushes him until his back hits the restaurant’s outer walls. Iwaizumi doesn’t get a word in before Oikawa has both hands slammed to the wall on either side of his face, trapping him in, and he remembers what it looks like when Oikawa is really, actually mad, teeth bared and eyes bright with tears. He’s beautiful in a way Iwaizumi can never describe; he’s not a poet, he doesn’t have the romanticism for words, but he does know what it feels like to have his heart windmill to his throat, wanting nothing more than to have Oikawa to himself.

 

“I’ll think whatever I damn well please,” Oikawa snarls. It loses all bite considering his voice is shaking and it looks like his eyes are about to well over with tears. He digs his fingers into the rough concrete of the wall he’s trapped Iwaizumi against, too afraid to give him a chance to run away. “I think you’re in love with me, Iwa-chan,” he says, every word wavering in pitch. He turns red just saying it out loud but he has to say this. “I wasn’t sure before, but I really am now.”

 

Iwaizumi exhales shakily, forcing himself to relax. When he’s tense, Oikawa’s tense. A-Un no Kokyu, even when they fight. “I don’t want things to change betw--”

 

“Well I do.” Oikawa seems determined to cut him off. “You’re an asshole, Iwa-chan. You’re so unfair. This whole time, I thought you weren’t sure about me so of course I never said anything, and now you’re telling me you’ve deliberately kept yourself away from me because you thought you were getting in the way?”

 

“It’s not like I wanted to pressure you into being with me! Just because we’ve always been tog--”

 

“Exactly!!” Oikawa practically begs, “We’ve always been together, you’ve always known me best, so how could you not know how much _I want you!?_ ”

 

Iwaizumi watches in agony as Oikawa chokes around the last word, then shrinks in on himself, hands sliding away from the wall. He tries to hide and Iwaizumi catches him by the wrists, pulling him back, and Oikawa doesn’t even try to fight him, obediently hiding in his shoulder when Iwaizumi offers him an embrace.

 

“Why are you so mean to me?” Oikawa whispers, and Iwaizumi wonders how much Oikawa can actually hurt him with just a few words.

 

“I don’t mean to be,” he mumbles into Oikawa’s neck, allowing his eyes to slip closed. It feels so good to have Oikawa wrapped around him, clinging to him, not a scrap of air between them. “I might be a goddamn idiot though, and I’m sorry for a lot of stuff I don’t know how to talk to you about.”

 

What was the point of surrounding all of his unhappiness with outward joy? Oikawa saw through him anyway, but they were carefully vague enough around each other that they both ended up standing still. 

 

“I want a proper apology,” Oikawa demands. He pulls away, but only a little, and Iwaizumi is flooded with jittery relief to see Oikawa acting petulant with him. That’s Oikawa’s way of asking for affection.

 

“I’m sorry for not understanding you better,” Iwaizumi offers.

 

Oikawa digs his fingers into Iwaizumi’s side to tickle him, making him bark out a laugh. “Stupid Iwa-chan, repeat after me. I’m so sorry for hurting your gracious feelings, Oikawa-sama.”

 

Iwaizumi sighs, long-suffering. He’s so relieved. He’s so grateful. “I’m sorry for hurting your gracious feelings, Oikawa...” Another jab. “Oikawa-sama!”

 

“I’ll never assume anything by myself ever again.”

 

“I’ll never assume anything by myself ever again.”

 

“You’re the best, Oikawa.”

 

“...”

 

“Iwa-chan!”

 

“You’re the best, Oikawa.”

 

Oikawa gives him a lopsided smile, warm and genuine, and it shakes the entire foundation of Iwaizumi’s self-control. “I love you, Tooru,” he says shyly, cheeky.

 

What a brat. Could anyone be easier for him to love? “I love you, Tooru,” Iwaizumi tells him, gently because he wants this to sink in, and Oikawa blinks at him in a flurry, like he hadn’t expected Iwaizumi to actually say it.

 

“...Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, staring at him in a cosmic daze, like Iwaizumi’s the one who lit up all the stars in the night sky. “I think we should go home.”

 

\---

 

“--let _go_ for a--”

 

“...Um, hello? Iwaizumi?”

 

“Naoya, hey! Uh, sorry for disappearing like that, Oikawa and I-- just _wait a second,_ Oikawa!”

 

“Are you guys okay?” Naoya inspects his fingernails, too familiar with these sorts of phone calls from Iwaizumi to even be fazed anymore. “Shiori-chan, Iwaizumi’s calling with Oikawa on the other side,” he whispers loudly to her, covering the mouthpiece briefly. She immediately crowds next to him to listen in.

 

“We’re- we headed home early,” Iwaizumi says, clearly distracted, “just let me know how much the bill comes out to be and I’ll--” There’s some clear jostling. “Naoya-kun~?” Oikawa’s voice suddenly cuts in, and Naoya hears Iwaizumi swearing in the background.

 

He puts his face in his hand. “Hi, Oikawa-kun.”

 

“Listen, Iwa-chan can’t talk on the phone right now. He’s really busy with me.”

 

Iwaizumi is definitely calling him shitty in the background. Naoya buries his face deeper into his hand. “Are you sure Iwaizumi wants you to be telling people that so openly, Oikawa-kun?”

 

“I’m just offering you an explanation for when you see all the hickeys on him next time,” Oikawa explains magnanimously, then shrieks as Iwaizumi wrestles the phone back from him. “Sorry, just, sorry. Just ignore him--”

 

“Definitely ignoring,” Naoya says flatly.

 

“Really sorry about all this, Naoya. I’ll call you n--” Click.

 

Naoya blinks slowly, unamused as unamused can be. He sets the phone down and looks at Shiori, groaning to see the wolfish grin on her face.

 

“I knew it!” she exclaims excitedly, eyes twinkling.

 

“Everyone with eyes knew it,” Naoya complains, “Christ almighty, it took long enough.”

 

\---

 

It’s hilarious to Iwaizumi how long it takes for Oikawa to settle into life in Osaka. Oikawa likes to claim to be a chill city boy but honestly, he’s a country boy at heart, and without the cookie cutter cleanliness of Tokyo, Oikawa finds all the roughness of Osaka quite disagreeable. 

 

It gets better after they get their apartment decorated again though, and by the half-year mark, Oikawa can grudgingly acknowledge the city’s good points. Iwaizumi takes him out on some weekends, just small trips over to Kyoto to pray for good luck at shrines, or to Nara to feed some alarmingly aggressive deer, or all the way over to Hiroshima just to eat oversized okonomiyaki straight from an iron grill. 

 

He still gets cranky sometimes when they don’t see each other for a long time, but such is the nature of being on different league teams. They’re busy with practice matches with their own teams and sometimes they go off to Tokyo for a few weeks at a time to practice as Team Japan.

 

It makes Iwaizumi giddy to think about being a national representative for Japan to the world. And considering this has always been Oikawa’s dream, he’s heartened to see the wide smiles constantly found on Oikawa’s face these days, even when he’s being a little asshole to Kageyama whenever they have mentor matches with different university teams. It’s not a surprise that Kageyama decided on the professional circuit either, and there’s already loud whispers of recruiting him for the national team before he even graduates, but Iwaizumi is proud that Oikawa no longer gets a shadow across his face when Kageyama’s name comes up. They’ve all grown in different ways. 

 

“We’re going to the Olympics,” Oikawa mumbles against his mouth on a hot summer night, still riding the high of getting the news earlier that day. It’s still a year away, and they still have to beat all the qualifiers in the coming months, but that doesn’t seem like such an obstacle anymore.

 

Iwaizumi isn’t having a very productive time trying to think. He grunts his acknowledgment while sinking his teeth into Oikawa’s neck and fumbles for the AC remote to lower it a few more degrees, nudging Oikawa’s thighs wider apart with his knees. 

 

It’s a wonder they managed to go so many years without this intimacy. There was always a fire in Iwaizumi’s gut to have Oikawa closer, just _more_ of him, but it took them so long to get over that hill. 

 

He remembers the immediate aftermath of finally talking things out at home, how Oikawa had held onto him and cried and confessed how hard it had been for him to go through all of high school fearing Iwaizumi was going to leave him for different universities. And then the doubt of being together when that didn’t actually happen, how terrified he was that Iwaizumi was staying with him out of comfort or passive convenience, and Iwaizumi had to hide his face in Oikawa’s shoulder to mask the hot sting of tears in his eyes, guilty and aching for leaving Oikawa swimming in so much uncertainty.

 

They hadn’t left the apartment for a week. Not for their last lectures, not for practices, not for meeting up with about-to-be far-flung friends; they only left once, and that was for their graduation ceremony. Even then, Iwaizumi hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of Oikawa at all, so consumed with him, over a decade of buried feelings constantly boiling over. 

 

Oikawa bites him on the shoulder, hard, and Iwaizumi hisses, stumbling in rhythm only to have his face wrenched closer to Oikawa’s, strong setter’s fingers cupping his jaw.

 

“If you’re going to think that hard, you’d better be thinking about me,” Oikawa purrs, hot breath ghosting over Iwaizumi’s lips.

 

“I _am_ ,” Iwaizumi growls, and he sinks to his elbows, slipping his tongue into Oikawa’s mouth, swallowing Oikawa’s eager moan. His brain is dying to be overwhelmed by so much of Oikawa’s heat and a shudder works its way up his spine when Oikawa’s thighs press him in tighter.

 

Oikawa arches up against him with a whimper, gasping hotly in his ear. He’s getting mind-numbingly tight and Iwaizumi is always amazed by how good Oikawa is for him, how sensitive and reactive he is, what a mess he really becomes. The thought makes his cock throb and Iwaizumi stretches out his thrusts, wanting to reach deeper. 

 

“Iwa-chan, too- too deep!” Oikawa whines, breathless with bliss, squirming around him. He tries to dig his heel into the back of Iwaizumi’s thigh but it just makes Iwaizumi push into him harder, making sure Oikawa can’t catch a breath. “Ah- Iwa-cha-- _ah!_ ” Oikawa cries out, clutching harder to Iwaizumi’s broad, strong shoulders, filthy, embarrassing noises coming out of his mouth. “Iwa-chan, f- feels good, Iwa-chan!”

 

His consonants have gone soft, all the edges sheared off. And if that isn’t the sexiest, most gratifying thing Iwaizumi has ever heard. He licks his lower lip, hungry for more. 

 

Oikawa trembles before him, all around him, thighs open and inviting. He’s being so loud. Iwaizumi grinds his cock in with more pointedness and Oikawa moans his name like melting caramel. “Oikawa, you feel _incredible_ ,” Iwaizumi manages through clenched teeth, groaning as Oikawa tightens around him even more.

 

“Iwa-chan, Iwa--!” Oiakwa cuts off, the punchy breaths of Iwaizumi’s name disappeared in a strained gasp. He hates as much as he loves Iwaizumi doing this to him. It’s something entirely unique to have an orgasm fucked out of him; it’s just different. Deeper. It builds out of his bone marrow and leaves him with static in the brain for hours, mortifyingly stupid.

 

Oikawa comes hard and all at once, jerks with it, clenching down tight enough to make Iwaizumi bite out a rough, half-snarl of Oikawa’s name. It rips through him, jagged and sharp. There’s lightning in his belly and Oikawa’s thighs tremble with the effort of caging Iwaizumi deeper, closer, urging him in as close as he can to pump him full of come. He whimpers with every hard thrust, too sensitive, his cock straining helplessly, hot come spilled over his belly. Iwaizumi’s cock is so thick and full and Oikawa bites on his lower lip, doing his best to swallow helpless, needy moans. 

 

Obscene. Just filthy, how good Oikawa looks with his bitten lips and heavy eyes, dark wells of demand. “ _Iwa-chan,_ ” Oikawa mouths, just a whisper of air in it, belly and chest splattered with his own come. Iwaizumi bends more and brushes the tips of their noses together, gentle and cute. He feels the arc that Oikawa’s fingers trace up his spine, shuddering when those powerful fingers suddenly dig into his lower back. 

 

Iwaizumi ducks into the crook of Oikawa’s neck and sinks his teeth in. It makes Oikawa cry out and then iwaizumi feels lips against his ear, hot breaths heating his skin. 

 

“I want it inside,” Oikawa says, labored and breathless. He tightens around Iwaizumi’s cock just imagining it, and then he’s shuddering as Iwaizumi assumably loses his mind and any sense of restraint. Oikawa hears small groans escaping his own throat but is helpless to it, the sound fucked out of him, and he thinks he may really melt, full of hot come. There’s nowhere else, this is as close as we can get, Oikawa thinks hysterically, clutching Iwaizumi desperately close.

 

Iwaizumi is pleased that Oikawa is happy. He moans Oikawa’s name, low and quiet and breathless, _Tooru, Tooru, Tooru_. Oikawa says nothing but he is trembling and boneless, taking all of Iwaizumi in with eager greed. 

 

It’s hot. Outside and in, Oikawa is burning. He can’t breathe.

 

Iwaizumi gulps in a few breaths before he pushes himself up, quickly cupping Oikawa’s jaw. “Tooru, _oy,_ ” he says, shaking him, watching the glassiness of Oikawa’s eyes. 

 

Oikawa shudders again, quiet, quick hitches of breath all he can manage. He’s been turned inside out, raw and overwhelmed with Iwaizumi’s heat. He blinks sluggishly, finally sucking in a deeper breath when Iwaizumi pushes away from him a bit more.

 

“Holy shit,” he manages.

 

Iwaizumi laughs, caught off guard and glowing more than a little. Oikawa catches him by the shoulder and pulls him in again despite the heat and stick.

 

“Feels good, Iwa-chan,” he whispers, filthily innocent. 

 

Iwaizumi blushes and grins all at once. He tries to reply, voice scratchy and throat dry, but he can’t seem to find anything to say. 

 

Oikawa doesn’t push him to continue. The sudden embarrassment on Iwaizumi’s face is incredibly endearing and Oikawa has always liked best how helplessly he remains Iwaizumi’s absolute favorite thing in the entire world.

 

“Well, I love you too, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa teases, though mostly serious, if clearly self-gratified.

 

Iwaizumi’s face softens and he sits back on his heels, hands rubbing soothingly at Oikawa’s soft thighs. What a view. 

 

Oikawa reaches for his hand for a squeeze, and then he gets a look on his face, lips pulling up in a dark smile. He slides his fingertips along the inside of his own thigh, to where Iwaizumi is still joined with him, breath hitching at the feeling of how wide he’s stretched around Iwaizumi’s cock. He doesn’t stop, though, and Iwaizumi watches transfixed as Oikawa traces his fingers up his abdomen, through the mess of his own come, coming to settle on top of his stomach.

 

“Feels like you’re all the way up to here,” he says, voice husky and deep, razorblades in his smile, and Iwaizumi thinks they must both still be decently young after all. 

 

\---

 

On the Valentine’s Day only a few months before the Olympic games, Oikawa goes shopping with Haruko-chan for ingredients. He and Iwaizumi had gotten to know her and her friends after repeated run-ins at their local izakaya on Friday nights and it was really nice to make new friends in Osaka. 

 

This year, he’d really like to try and make chocolates that look like the Olympic rings. Haruko said she’d tag along to learn some of his high-level techniques. 

 

Sometimes he catches some of Haruko’s friends staring at Iwaizumi, and he always makes sure to point that out to Iwaizumi who just laughs. But Oikawa isn’t threatened by it. That much. Mostly he’s cool with it. 

 

“But Tooru-chan, why do you make him chocolate every year when he doesn’t like it?” she asks, distracting him from the difficult decision of trying to choose an appropriately colored chocolate box. 

 

“Who told you Iwa-chan doesn’t like chocolate?” Oikawa asks, bewildered.

 

“Hm?” She tilts her head at him, cute and confused. “Kaname-chan asked him last week if he gets a lot of chocolate for Valentine’s Day. Apparently he told her he doesn’t eat chocolate from anyone even though a lot of girls used to try to give him some in high school and university. I just figured he must dislike chocolate.”

 

Making chocolate from scratch for someone on Valentine’s Day is to give a part of yourself to them. It’s a great way to confess, a great way to show affection, a great way to share a little sweetness. 

 

Oikawa stares at her. It completely doesn’t make any sense that there could be anything about Iwaizumi that he doesn’t already know, but here he is, with this brand new information.

 

“Is that so,” he says in the end, turning away to hide the huge grin splitting his face. 

 

\---

 

He’s seen countless matches on TV and laptops and on his phone during busy train commutes, but no one ever talks about how bright the lights are. Iwaizumi looks up at the panels of LEDs overhead, beaming down like floodlights, the echoing roar of the crowds already a familiar drone in the back of his mind. 

 

Oikawa bumps him with a hip and Iwaizumi turns to him with a grin, blood racing with adrenaline. They’re two points down in the fourth set but Iwaizumi is determined to claw them back; they’re winning 2-1 right now, and he’d prefer to not have all the pressure stacked in the fifth set. 

 

Exhaustion is a distant luxury none of them have time to think about. His calves are on fire but he’s jumping as high as he ever has, and Oikawa’s setting to him as pinpoint precise as he always has. They’ve been merciless, relentless. A gold medal is riding on it.

 

Sometimes, when he takes the time to scan the crowds, he can catch familiar faces, and that makes him proud. His family, his peers, old friends that still make his brain say Nekoma, Fukurodani, Karasuno, _Seijou,_ even if they’ve all walked a far way from those simpler days.

 

Oikawa says nothing but he smiles, counting down the seconds until their technical timeout is over. He picks up one end of the towel slung around Iwaizumi’s neck to playfully wipe at the beads of sweat crawling down the side of his face, laughing when Iwaizumi starts to complain at him for breaking his zen. It earns him a rough hair-ruffling and Oikawa shoots peace signs at Captain when he gets told off for messing around.

 

They know that Oikawa’s focus is a weapon. He laughs and jokes and goofs off, but there’s nothing at all that he doesn’t see with those sharp eyes of his, glittering and dangerous. This is where he’s king. This is the court he rules. 

 

Oikawa turns to look at Kageyama, standing only a few feet away, sharing the same uniform. He feels a small curl of pride bloom in his chest alongside the usual cringe of irritation, and Oikawa decides he’s as mature as he needs to be. Kageyama subbed for him for a while in the last set and he did wonderfully. Oikawa is proud of him for standing straight and tall on the world stage. But for now, Oikawa is still that many steps ahead of him, maybe forever his senpai, and that’s enough for him.

 

“If this one goes out of bounds, you’re making dinner for the next week straight,” Iwaizumi informs plainly, grabbing his attention again. It won’t happen but Oikawa needs a little kick in the ass with his serves sometimes. 

 

“Iwa-chan...do you want me to get it in or not?? You know I’d love to make you dinner every day~”

 

“Oh god...” Team Japan collectively groans, half of them face-palming. “Iwaizumi, can you just stop talking to Oikawa during official matches? You know he’s always a thousand percent terrible.”

 

“My precious team, so rude!” Oikawa sings, self-satisfaction brimming on his face. He turns his hands to the sky and shrugs, so annoying that Iwaizumi is seriously tempted to kick his ass. Luckily, the whistle saves him from any more verbal pummeling from the entire team, and Iwaizumi fails to hide the way he’s grinning when Oikawa turns to him with bright eyes, one hand outstretched. “Going for gold,” Oikawa promises, unshakable.

 

Iwaizumi meets Oikawa halfway in a sideways high-five, as they’ve done since they were kids. 

 

Kageyama watches a hundred words pass silently between them with just a single look. Despite knowing them well and knowing them long, he suddenly feels keenly that he is in the presence of giants. 

 

They walk back onto the court, shoulder to shoulder, bathed in light.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> it's too easy to imagine oikawa being the only one passionate enough to pursue the olympics, and i wanted iwa-chan to go with him. because they should always be together :)
> 
> as always, please come scream about iwaoi with me on twitter [@yuxisushi](https://twitter.com/yuxisushi) :)


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